


Tokyo Politician Game

by ribbonista



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonista/pseuds/ribbonista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishimaru frets about marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tokyo Politician Game

**Author's Note:**

> an old request.

“Hey,” Ishimaru asks gently, wincing a bit. “What do you think about marriage?”

There’s nothing but a low grunt as a large hand comes to brush through Ishimaru’s partners hair, exhaling sharply. A twitch of his hips results in a stern look from the red-eyed man, and Mondo rolls his eyes.

“Kiyotaka, is this really the fuckin’ time?”

“Yes! You know my influence over the politics here; a single man without a family cannot be trusted! People could view me as a sleazy bachelor type!”

Mondo rolls his eyes, but slides his hands up from Ishimaru’s knees to hold his thighs, fingers digging in and leaving pale freckles of pressure under the dimpled skin. The politician gasps and glares down at the gangster sourly but a smooth smile is all he gets in reply, Mondo’s lips curling over his pearly canines smugly. When the politician opens his mouth to snap a sharp retort to Mondo’s ministrations, he’s cut off as a moan escapes his lips as the gangster begins rocking his hips, and they begin to fuck again to Mondo’s relief.

Hands planting firmly on Mondo’s chest Ishimaru can’t help but push down against the hips working at him, eyes glossing over and, for the moment, marriage being pushed to the back of his mind in favor of Oowada-kun’s face and Oowada-kun’s hands and Oowada-kun’s noises and Oowada-kun’s dick because really, that’s all Ishimaru cared about at the moment.

There’s a moment of white hot as Mondo slinks a hand between Ishimaru’s legs straddling his own darker hips and he wraps his hand around Kiyotaka’s length and begins to pump him in time to the feverish rocking of his hips and it doesn’t take long for Ishimaru to come quickly with a low moan, riding it out and effectively exhausting himself to collapse into his own sticky mess on Mondo’s chest, panting a bit and though he was fit enough, and exercised every day, the secret affair with the gangster always wore him out in the end.

Mondo pulls out quickly and strokes himself a few times to cum silently with his mouth hanging open and Ishimaru looks around as if he’s being spied on before wriggling up and planting a kiss onto Mondo’s lips, who wraps his brown arms around the raven-haired man and pants to catch his breath.

Before long, Ishimaru is back to heckling the gangster.

“I cannot get married to you, and yet they want me to marry. What am I supposed to do?”

“Just get married to me.” The retort comes sharply, a sigh of exasperation and a rolling of the black-rimmed eyes. Ishimaru frets, slender hand coming up to rub his temples.

“Latent homosexual relationships? Not to mention secret latent homosexual relations with a charged felon?” Ishimaru spouts, bewildered and staring at Mondo wildly with his maroon eyes. Mondo just laughs, grinning devilishly.

“Imagine th’ fuckin’ headlines: ‘Politian Ishimaru Gets Boned By Bad Boy’.” He laughs again, but falters under Ishimaru’s harsh gaze.

“It isn’t funny, Oowada-kun-! There’s a lot riding on me!” He slaps Mondo’s chest at the boisterous laughter at his last sentence. “I’m one of the most influential people in the area- I shouldn’t be having interpersonal relations like this?”

“Eh…you know you love me.”

And the subject is dropped.

By the morning after their excursion, Ishimaru is long gone from Mondo’s cramped apartment, having woken early to wash and eat, a small bundle of yen resting on the kitchen table in recompense for the food he had eaten. His mother had busily poked and prodded at Kiyotaka incessantly, spouting out hurried ‘Where were you?’s and ‘Don’t you know the ramifications if something had happened!?’s. Kiyotaka had only rolled his eyes and busily assured his mother he was out all night with a girl.

Though he didn’t like lying to his family of his relationship status, Kiyotaka Ishimaru found himself unable to tell the Ishimaru Family of his affair with his childhood friend; a dark, cold boulder of fear sat in his stomach whenever he thought of the gangster in public and many of his public appearances were rescheduled to a time wherein Ishimaru would not have a panic attack thinking about the man he had to secretly call a boyfriend.

It’s no surprise to Mondo when Ishimaru meets the politician in the usual back alley and his face and hands are clammy with usual paranoid delusions and fear, but the older man simply takes Ishimaru’s hands nonetheless and leads him back to the crammed APARTMENT 37 in the MONOKUMATIC HOUSING COMPLEX, though the small three-roomed apartment could hardly be called a house.

Ishimaru steals glances at Mondo when they sit on his old couch and finally wells enough courage to speak a nagging fear of his, through the form of a question he had asked a lot throughout their affair:

“What are we going to do?”

Mondo sniffs and rolls his eyes, turning to Ishimaru with an indignant air of apathy. “Can ya stop worrying? Like, for once?” Ishimaru opens his mouth and Mondo cuts him off sharply with a raise of his hand. “Lissen. We been doing this for how long? Since we were what? Sixteen, seventeen? I get it. You’re a fuckin’ miracle worker in this city. Famous, influential politician Kiyotaka Ishimaru, the man from the amazin’ Ishimaru breed. But I don’t really care about your fuckin’ reputation or your prodigy or job.”

A moment of harsh silence passes before a dejected “Oh.” mumbles out of Kiyotaka’s lips and his face is pale, clammy and before he knows it the tears he had thought he had tried so hard to abolish start to bead and bubble and blur, pricking at the corners of his eyes and and roll down his angular cheeks, his long fingers rubbing his temples again. “Oh.”

Another painful few minutes pass with only the sound of Ishimaru’s heavy breathing and sniffles and panting and soft sobs, curling his digits in his own smoothed back hair and gently tugging himself conscious. There’s a rustling, and Mondo gets off the couch.

But rather than leave to the kitchen as Ishimaru had believed he would (hoped, perhaps? Ishimaru didn’t know), Mondo dropped to his knees in front of the raven-haired man and gently wove his own hands in between Ishimaru’s own, huffing a sigh as if preparing himself.

“If your fuckin’ family wants you to get married so damn bad, then you can marry me ‘r whatever. I don’t care about your reputation, Kiyotaka, ‘n’ neither should you. I love you, yeah? And if they think you’ll be bringing shame to your family, well, they can deal with the Crazy Diamonds. ‘sides. You wouldn’t even be an Ishimaru anymore, you’d be an Oowada.” And he flashes a grin.

Before Mondo can react, Ishimaru pounces on him and pushes him to the floor and absolutely smothers his faces in kisses, sobbing more burying his face in the older man’s neck. They lay there for a long while, on the floor, in front of the couch, tangled, and Ishimaru doesn’t really think he minds because Mondo, like he always did, beat out his thoughts of prestige and prodigy and the Ishimaru family name and publicity and reputation and politics in favor of thoughts of marriage and Mondo and happiness and sex and Mondo and hand-holding and Mondo and chaste kisses and Mondo Oowada, because, Ishimaru thought, he did have a point.

You can’t really ruin the Ishimaru family name if your last name is Oowada.


End file.
